


Everbody Wants to Rule the World

by 8pi



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater, call the hawk d
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-17
Updated: 2019-11-17
Packaged: 2021-02-07 18:42:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21462730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/8pi/pseuds/8pi
Summary: Jordan had looked at him, and for a fleeting moment he was known. A terrifying emotion had begun to stir.While Ronan over the years spent a great deal of time working to awaken Niall’s slumbering dream creatures, Declan had dedicated his own efforts to ensuring that whatever part of himself went to sleep with their father’s murder, did not wake up now.
Relationships: Jordan Hennessy/Declan Lynch
Comments: 2
Kudos: 19





	Everbody Wants to Rule the World

**Author's Note:**

> Title borrowed from Lorde's version of the song. Would also recommend listening to Hozier for this. It Will Come Back and Arsonist’s Lullaby are vibing with this Declan character study of sorts.

Jordan had seen him. Like really seen him. This should concern Declan for an endless list of reasons. He had spent a lifetime deflecting glances into his family’s messy reality. He worked for years cleaning up Niall’s messes and more recently trying to prevent Ronan’s. Declan devoted his entire being to creating a stable and loving environment for his brothers to grow up in. Emphasis on the stable, for his middle brother, Declan became well practiced at balancing empathy and rage, as Ronan barreled headfirst down the chaotic path Niall had paved, despite having seen firsthand the bloody consequences of Niall’s choices. Throughout this entire journey, he had managed to avoid any and all closer looks, and yet Jordan had seen through it.

Jordan had looked at him and for a fleeting moment he was known. A terrifying emotion had begun to stir.

While Ronan over the years spent a great deal of time working to awaken Niall’s slumbering dream creatures, Declan had dedicated his own efforts to ensuring that whatever part of himself went to sleep with their father’s murder, did not wake up now.

He took some comfort in knowing Jordan seemed to regard him with the same caution as he held for her. Each interaction they had shared had surprised each party with the feeling of mutual enjoyment. It was a small kindness to the both of them, that these were fleeting moments in working towards their now shared goal in the dangerous game their families were now cemented at the center off. Jordan made Declan want to deviate from his intricately crafted plan. Spontaneity was not quality Declan had ever engaged with. Conforming to expectations was what Declan prided himself on it. He had neatly piled completed checklists, achieved SMART goal documentation, and a number letters of recommendation providing hard proof of his exemplary ability to perform at the desired level.

Predictability was a trait he’d researched thoroughly in parenting books. Creating stability was key to the supporting the success of traumatized teens. The time following the murder of their father and Aurora’s ensuant death, had sent Declan through a volumes of self-help parenting books, but this was not a new genre for him. From a young age, Declan understood that Niall was not a man cut out for fatherhood. Declan had long since mastered providing a predictability that Niall’s criminal lifestyle could not afford. Predictability didn’t invite attention or questions. As far as the outside world was concerned, Declan, only newly arrived into adulthood, was handling his orphaning and the resultant custody of his unruly brothers far better than anyone might expect.

Declan grew from a moderately boring boy into a completely bland man. He wore bland clothes in classic styles. He lived in a bland room ordered straight from the catalogue. He had a bland political internship, as zoning analyst, that later turned into a bland job as political methodology researcher. He had seemingly no hobbies other than regular church attendance. He didn’t even really drink outside of an occasional glass at an important social event.

For all intents and purposes, Declan was exactly what he so constantly exuded; predictably bland. He had neither the abilities of his brother to shape the world both for better and for worse, nor the did possess the whimsical joy inspired by his youngest brother. Left as the sole guardian of two teen’s whose existence should be impossible. Declan was simply himself. Predictably bland Declan.

And yet now, sitting in the attic of his house, he found himself pondering for the first time what it would be to take off, even momentarily, this mask and he had so perfectly constructed. He ear marked his page and set the book down for a moment. Hozier music played softly in the background of his thoughts. Something about the tall Irish man’s musical narrative was stirring that part of himself he was trying so desperately to quiet. He turned off the stereo and returned to his chair. Picking up his book, Declan tried to concrete on the story on representation and power within portraiture, but after rereading the same page several times over, the silence became too loud. For reasons he didn’t care to interrogate at the moment, he turned to his phone, pulled up Spotify and turned on a playlist of popular Irish folk songs Aurora used to sing while lovingly baking treats for her precious boys. He didn’t really feel like reading all that much anymore. Letting the lyrics wash softly over him, he popped down to the kitchen and brewed an expresso. The luxury machine chugged mechanically before producing an aromatic blend of Arabica beans into a small white mug. Pausing he, decided instead he wanted an affogato. Blaming the sweet craving on nostalgia induced by the music, a small scoop of ice cream joined the coffee in his mug.

Back in the attic, dessert now finished, Declan felt the abyss looming. The past few weeks had been incredibly trying. Nothing had gone to plan. In fact, shit had quite literally hit the fan. Mathew was not only struggling with the strange effects of being dreamed, but to make matters worse he now knew he was dreamed and that his brothers had kept this from him. Ronan was feeling angry and left behind confined to the Barns due to the night wash predicament and yet had still found a way to cause trouble with the painting and his continuance pursuing answers that likely led to only more trouble.

And then there was Jordan. He told himself he didn’t have it in him to love another dream, but this deeply conflicted with how between the two of them Jordan felt far more real than he ever had. When she had taken him to her studio, he was no longer bland predictable Declan, brother of a dreamer and brother of dream; he became Declan lover of art, wearer of fine leather shoes, someone who could just maybe be spontaneous, and a boy who was very much in danger of falling for girl. Everything about her would make his life more complicated but being around her felt refreshingly simple.

Stuck in his own head, Declan almost didn’t notice his phone light up with a new notification. A message from Jordan. Her studio’s address. No accompanying comment. He did not stop to consider, lest he change his mind. Grabbing his car keys, his started the engine and let himself drive. Twenty minutes later he pulled onto the road that led to the building. In front of him was Jordan’s car. They both parked. Emerging from their respective vehicle. Jordan eyed him; her expression unreadable. He knew his own face was wearing its practiced neutral, but it was not without effort. Neither of them said anything. There was a lot that theoretically should be discussed. But rather than the oppressingly loud silence from earlier this evening, the silence that now hung in the air was quiet. Jordan locked her car and made her way into the building. Declan followed suit, hit the lock button on the keys, and fell in line beside her.


End file.
